


When Things Fall Apart

by givemeunicorns



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Coda, Emotional/Psychological Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeunicorns/pseuds/givemeunicorns
Summary: When his father opens his arms this time, Magnus sags into them, no more fight left in him. He clings to his father and he weeps. Because he's crumbling, and there is no where else to fall.





	When Things Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm DISTRAUGHT and i have FEELINGS about how hard Magnus is on himself and how insidious the dynamics of parental abuse is and how horrible it fucks up your sense of self as an adult so here's a fic I guess

     There is a part of Magnus, a small sliver of him that knows there is something to perfect about this. That the depth of his pain and the approach of his father, the restoration of his magic, line up too neatly. Asmodeus only ever gives what he can take away just as quickly, when he's angry or bored or tired of playing at love and connection. That his father's affection will always come at a price. Magnus knows that, in his heart.

     But there is a louder, more cloying, more insidious voice that drowns out the small sliver of him that wants to believe that Alec leaving him and his magic returning are more twined together than his father wanting to be a father. A voice that reminds him that his mother took her own life without any help from Asmodeus, that his father was gone but she'd still hated her son. That his stepfather, the man who had once loved him, would have killed him for being a monster, if Magnus hadn't killed him first. That Camille left him and found him and left him again. That Imasu, that Woolsy, that so many others had walked away from him before, not because of who his father was but because of who _he_ was underneath the bravado, the glamour, the lavish parties and the quick one liners. As much as he would like to blame Alec walking away on his father, he can't, not really. Plenty of other people have left him, with no help or push from the Prince of Hell. Magnus knows himself, knows his flaws and shortcomings in intimate and excruciating detail. He has been too much and not enough. His not deserving of softness, of kindness, of the grand fairytale love he's always dreamed of, always longed for. The sort of love he thought he'd found with Alec.

     The truth is, Magnus wanted to believe this is his father's fault, but he knows, as he always has, that's not no one's fault but his own. That when the anger fades, he'll see the sense of it. If he hadn't been so weak, he could have learned to live without his magic, to live a fulfilling mortal life with the man he loved. Alec is young, and handsome, and caring, and with so much already going on in his life, how could Magnus could ever have thought it fair or right to burden him with this? To expect him to understand? By the reckoning of Magnus life, Alec was little more than a child, an inexperienced boy who'd let himself get swept up in the glittering brilliance of first love. And Magnus, Magnus is too old for it, for those sorts of childish notions, and yet he'd let himself get tangled up in a pipe dream, even when he'd known better. He'd wasted centuries pursing a love he knew he would never have, only to buckle to his stupid, treacherous hear all over again, for an impossible love with an impossible boy. But this time, he can't live with the reminder. He's too tired, too old, worn too thin.

     He looks at his father through the tears, through the pain of the memories swirling through his head. He knows this won't end well, because it never does where his father is concerned. That there will be love and kindness and praise until their isn't, until he grows tired of the game and then Asmodeus will destroy him, like he always does. That his father wants him to keep this pain not save him, but to use against him on a rainy day, slipped away in his carefully cataloged trove of Magnus's secrets, another knife to slip between his son's ribs as he sees fit.

     But there is a part of Magnus too that remembers, even after centuries, what it felt like, seeing his own eyes reflected back at him for the first time. To be praised for that which he had always been told made him monstrous. To be allowed to be angry and fearsome and cruel, to allow that darkest parts of his being, the ones that frightened even himself, loose. To be held in his father's arms and feel safe, warm, loved, even if that love was laced poison.

     When his father opens his arms this time, Magnus sags into them, no more fight left in him. He clings to his father and he weeps. Because he's crumbling, and there is no where else to fall.

 

 

 

 


End file.
